Christmas at the Castle Read online

  And he did not want a family Christmas. He didn’t do Christmas. Had Louise’s death and his mother’s tragedy taught him nothing?

  He was watching Holly stomp back across what had once been the site of a drawbridge but was now a snow-covered cobbled path and something inside him was twisting. He watched the determined set of her shoulders and he thought how she’d walked all the way from the village in canvas trainers to apply for a job he didn’t want to give.

  He should have said no to Ben.

  He shouldn’t even have come himself. He’d been stunned by his mother’s reaction, her emotion as raw as if the tragedy had happened last week rather than over thirty years ago.

  ‘Don’t go near that place. Sell it fast, to the highest bidder. You don’t need it. Give the money to charity—I don’t care—just get rid of it, Angus.’

  But he’d wanted to see.

  He was the new Earl of Craigenstone. He had no intention of taking up the title, but still he wanted to see what he was letting go—as his half-brother and -sisters wanted to revisit what they were letting go. They’d lived in this place until three years ago. Their father had barricaded the place against them when their mother left, but they’d have memories and they wanted to see.

  Please... The plea had been heartrending.

  This wasn’t about him, he thought savagely. The old Earl had had four children. Why was it just him making the decisions?

  So... He’d just been offered staff. Why refuse? Personal selfishness? Just like his father?

  He was watching Holly McIntosh march away from the castle with as much dignity as she could muster and he was thinking of his father’s reputation. Mean. Selfish.

  He was not like his father. Surely.

  This was only for three weeks and then it’d be done. Surely his mother could cope if he explained. Surely it was time they both rid themselves of demons.

  Decide now, he told himself, and he did.

  ‘Holly...’ His voice rang out over the crisp white snow, and she heard even though she was two hundred yards away.

  She turned and glared, her hands on her hips. This was no normal employee, he thought. If he hired her, he’d be hiring spirit.

  Christmas spirit? Holly. The thought had him bemused.

  ‘It can be two jobs,’ he conceded, but her hands stayed on her hips and her belligerence was obvious.

  ‘Wages?’ she called, not moving.

  ‘What’s the standard wage around here for a cook?’ he demanded of Stanley and Stanley glared at him as if he was proposing spending Stanley’s money instead of the estate’s. The figure he threw at him sounded ridiculously low.

  And...I’m a chef.

  Holly’s words had been an indignant claim to excellence and pride had shown through.

  If he employed her he’d have a chef for Christmas. And a housekeeper. Christmas. He thought of his father’s reputation and he looked at Stanley’s dour face and he thought that some things had to change, right now.

  ‘I’ll pay you three times basic cook’s wages and I’ll hire you and your grandmother as a team,’ he called. And then, as Holly’s expression didn’t change, he added, ‘I’ll pay the same rate to you both.’

  ‘My Lord!’ Stanley gasped, but he was ignored. Holly’s expression was changing. She was trying not to look incredulous, he realised, but she was failing. ‘Each?’

  ‘Yes.’ He grinned, seeing her inner war. ‘Eight-hour days and half days off on Sunday. It’s three weeks of hard work, but the money will be worth it. I can’t say fairer than that.’

  She took a deep breath. He could see she was searching for the indignant, assertive Holly he’d seen up until now, but his offer seemed to have sucked all indignation out of her.

  ‘Are...are meals and accommodation included?’ she ventured, sounding cautious. Very cautious. As if he might bite.

  ‘I guess. But why do you need accommodation?’

  ‘We don’t have a car,’ Holly told him. ‘And, in case you haven’t noticed, it’s snowing and your driveway is a disgrace. It took me half an hour to trudge up here and Gran’s not as young as she used to be.’ She tilted her chin and met his gaze head on. ‘And our accommodation has to be heated.’

  ‘Heated!’ Stanley gasped, as though the word was an abomination, and Angus thought of the freezing, musty bedrooms throughout the castle, and the great draughty staircases and how much effort and expense it would take to get this place warm by Christmas. The snug had the only fireplace that didn’t seem to be blocked.

  But Holly was glaring a challenge and all of a sudden he was thinking of his half-brother and -sisters, who’d lived for years under these conditions, with the old man’s temper as well, and he thought...maybe he could put the effort in. Maybe he could make the place less of a nightmare for them to remember. He was not his father.

  ‘Done,’ he said. ‘With one proviso.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘That you come in now, dry out and tell me why you’re wearing those stupid sodden shoes.’

  ‘I need to get back to Gran.’

  ‘We’ll drive you back in a few minutes,’ he said, goaded. ‘But I’ll dry you out first. I believe I just hired you. You’re therefore my employee. You can sue me if you’re injured on the way to and from work, so I’m looking after my investment. Come into my castle, Miss McIntosh, and we’ll talk terms.’

  ‘And have some of that fruit cake?’ For heaven’s sake, he thought, stunned. She sounded hungry!

  ‘I believe that can be arranged.’

  ‘Then your offer is gratefully accepted,’ she said and trudged back towards them. She reached the front steps and Angus walked down to meet her. He held out his hand to steady her as she climbed the icy stone steps. She stared at his hand for a long moment and then she shook her head.

  ‘I’ll do this on my own terms, if you don’t mind,’ she said briskly. ‘I need your job. I’d also quite like your fruit cake, but I don’t need anything else.’

  ‘Nothing?’

  ‘Nothing.’ She peeped a smile at him and he saw the return of a mischief that he suspected was a latent part of this woman. ‘So any thought that you might be having your wicked way with the hired help, put out of your mind right now, Lord Craigenstone. Just leave that dark side you’re talking about outside. I might be coming to live in your castle, but I know my rights. Also, I’ve just been burned. Ravishment isn’t in any employment contract I intend to sign, now or ever.’

  CHAPTER TWO

  INSIDE, ENSCONCED IN one of the huge fireside chairs in the snug, her hands cradling a mug of hot chocolate, Holly seemed even younger than first impressions. And even more cute. Once she’d ditched the army greatcoat, he could see even more of her. Her cropped copper curls rioted as soon as she took off her beanie. They matched her cheeks which, in the warmth of the snug, grew even more flushed than they’d been when she was losing her temper out in the snow.

  She concentrated on her hot chocolate and fruit cake. She ate three slices while Angus reread her résumé and then read her grandmother’s.

  This might work. According to the résumés, Holly could definitely cook and her Gran could definitely clean. They might even have the skills to provide him with a decent Christmas.

  But her appearance didn’t fit. He glanced again at her résumé. She was a cook—no, a chef—but she was looking like something the cat had dragged in. The little dog had sidled across to her when she sat down. He’d leaped up on her knee and she was fondling him while still cradling the last of the warmth from the hot chocolate.

  They looked waifs and strays both.

  ‘If you’re who you say you are,’ he said slowly, ‘you must be one of the best paid chefs in Australia.’

  ‘I am,’ she said and then corrected herself. ‘I was.’
r />   ‘Can I verify this?’

  She glanced at her watch. ‘Yes,’ she said decisively. ‘I’d like you to. It’s midday here. That makes it nine at night in Sydney. I have contact numbers for the head chefs for all of the last three but one of the restaurants where I’ve worked. On a Monday night at this time of year, most chefs will be in their kitchens. Phone them. I’ll wait.’

  ‘But I can’t phone the last?’ he asked, homing in on detail.

  ‘The last place I owned myself,’ she said bluntly. ‘With my partner. It didn’t work out.’ She hesitated and then decided on honesty. ‘He was my fiancé and business partner. He robbed me.’

  ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘Don’t be. Ring the others.’

  He glanced at her and saw her face set in a mulish expression. She wanted him to ring, he thought, and with a sudden flash of insight he knew why. She was looking like a waif and she knew it. Putting herself on a professional footing would be important for her pride.

  So he rang as she ate yet more fruit cake, and he received an unequivocal response from all three chefs. Three variations of a common theme.

  ‘If you have Holly McIntosh you have a godsend. I’d hire her back in a minute. We’ve heard her place here has gone belly-up. Tell her the minute she gets back to Australia there’s a job waiting.’

  He disconnected from the last call. She was watching him gravely, and he could see she’d settled. She was on a more solid footing now.

  ‘You want to explain the trainers?’ he asked. She’d kicked off her sodden shoes and the socks beneath. She’d done it surreptitiously, kicking them under the chair and then tucking her feet up under her, but it hadn’t been surreptitious enough. Her feet would be freezing, he thought. She’d been standing in sodden canvas on ice. ‘Why the soaking footwear?’

  ‘I arrived here two days ago,’ she said. ‘But my baggage is still cavorting somewhere around the world. The airline says they’ll find it—eventually. None of Gran’s clothes fit so I’m stuck.’

  ‘You don’t think you should buy yourself some decent footwear while you wait?’

  ‘I don’t have any money,’ she said flatly. ‘That’s why I need the job.’

  ‘Not even enough for a pair of wellingtons?’

  She took a deep breath, stared into the remains of her hot chocolate and then laid her mug down on the side table with a decided thunk. Those clear green eyes met his with an honesty he was starting to expect.

  ‘I’m a chef,’ she said. ‘A good one. I and my...my ex-partner decided to set up on our own. We bought a restaurant, a great little place overlooking Sydney Harbour. We did the finances and were sure we could do it. We put everything we owned into it, or rather I did because it turned out Geoff didn’t have the money he said he did. He was my fiancé. I trusted him, but I was a fool. I thought we had double the capital we had but he lied. Anyway, a month ago the creditors moved in and Geoff moved out. Fast. I don’t know where he is now, but my credit cards are maxed out, I’m in debt to my ears and I’m suffering from a bad case of shattered pride. Not to mention a broken heart, although it’s a bit hard to think I loved someone who turned out to be a toe-rag.’

  ‘So you came to Scotland?’ he asked incredulously. ‘How does that make sense?’

  ‘See, here’s the thing,’ she said slowly. ‘I’m only Scottish through my Scottish dad—the rest of me’s pure Australian—but I have Scottish pride and so does my very Scottish Gran. My parents died in a car crash when I was twelve. My mother’s mother took me in, but she died last year. Now Maggie’s the only relative I have left and when I rang her last month and sort of implied I was in trouble and due to have a dreary Christmas I didn’t need to tell her exactly how broke I was. She guessed. So, Maggie being Maggie, she went out and bought me a plane ticket to visit.’

  ‘She sounds great.’

  ‘She is great,’ she said warmly, and then managed a grin. ‘And she’s an awesome housekeeper.’

  ‘Yet another reference,’ Angus said and smiled back and thought, That smile...

  Whoa...

  ‘Unfortunately,’ Holly went on, seemingly oblivious to the crackling electricity generated by that smile, ‘what I didn’t know is that Maggie’s only renting her cottage. I’ve always thought she owned it, but no. She’s not exactly known for saving, my Gran—as in the extraordinary gesture of my plane ticket. Anyway, it only took me five minutes after I’d landed to find out her landlord has put her house up for sale. She’s desperately scraping enough money together to pay for a deposit to rent somewhere else, and she’s as broke as I am. She thought if I flew over we could share Christmas expenses, but how do you share nothing? So that’s that. We had a problem but you’ve solved it. You see me here in sodden trainers, but they’ll dry out. You’ve promised us heating and we’ll have a very nice Christmas because of you. Now, if you could tell me when you want me to start...’

  ‘Do you have your airline ticket with you?’ he demanded and she looked confused.

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Is it still in your purse?’ he added, gesturing to her capacious handbag. ‘You haven’t thrown it out?’

  ‘No, but...’

  ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘You want to prove that, too?’ She was still confused.

  ‘Indulge me,’ he said, and she frowned and shifted the little dog, but not very far. She fumbled in her bag and found a crumpled booking sheet and airline ticket.

  ‘Keep those toes warm while I do some more phoning,’ he said, and she listened and hugged the dog some more while he phoned.

  He was ringing the airline.

  When she’d tried, she’d been put on hold for hours, but the Earl of Craigenstone was not put on hold. It seemed he was a member of some sort of platinum club and within seconds he was talking to...a person! Holly’s jaw just about dropped to her ankles. How did you ring an airline and get a person? Oh, to be an Earl.

  What was more, the person on the end of the line seemed inclined—even eager—to assist. Angus sent a few incisive questions down the line, then handed the phone over to her.

  ‘All sorted,’ he said. ‘Listen.’

  So Holly listened, stunned.

  ‘We’re so sorry, miss,’ the man on the other end of the line said. ‘This should have been explained to you. Seeing your baggage has been missing for over twenty-four hours, you can spend what you need right away and you’ll be reimbursed within four working days. It also seems your grandmother has paid an extra ten pounds insurance for baggage cover so there’s no loss at all—you’ll get full reimbursement if the baggage isn’t found, plus a small amount extra for inconvenience. I apologise that this wasn’t explained to you two days ago.’

  ‘I...thank you,’ she managed and Angus took the phone from her grasp, added a few contact details and disconnected.

  ‘So now you can buy wellingtons,’ he said.

  ‘I...’ She fought for something to say and couldn’t. She stared at her feet. ‘Um...’

  ‘Just how broke are you?’ he asked gently and she flushed, but there seemed no point denying things now.

  ‘Um...really, really broke,’ she whispered. ‘Geoff maxed out my credit cards. I owe money to everyone and Gran used her grocery money to buy my plane ticket. I...thank you but I still can’t buy wellingtons because no shop will take an airline’s promise that the money’s coming. But I can wait four days.’

  ‘You can’t. Here’s a loan to tide you over.’ He hauled out his wallet, counted out a wad of notes and held them out.

  ‘No.’ What was she thinking? For some reason, her Gran’s warning came slamming back and she stood up and backed to the door. ‘You’ve given me a job. I can’t take any more.’

  ‘This isn’t a gift,’ he said mildly. ‘When the airline pays you, you can pay me.’

&n
bsp; ‘You don’t know me. How can you trust me?’

  ‘You’re my employee.’

  ‘Yes, and Geoff was my partner and look what he did,’ she snapped. ‘I could walk out the door and spend this on riotous living and you’d never see me again.’

  ‘In Craigenstone?’ He grinned. ‘In case you hadn’t noticed, there’s not a lot of riotous living to be done in this place.’

  He was looking at her oddly. She caught herself—she needed to make an effort to recover.

  Wicked ways. Kilts and brawny arms and a wicked smile. Her imagination and the reputation of the Earl of Craigenstone were doing stupid things to her senses. Pull yourself together, she told herself and somehow she did.

  ‘I had...I had noticed,’ she said and managed to smile. She looked down at the proffered notes. Warm feet...

  ‘This is...wonderful. I could buy myself some wellingtons and a woolly jumper and some coal.’

  ‘You have no heating?’

  ‘Um...no.’

  ‘I’ll run you back to the village and we’ll collect some coal on the way.’

  ‘You’re kidding. You’re an Earl!’

  ‘I didn’t think Australians held with the aristocracy,’ he said, bemused. ‘Americans certainly don’t.’

  ‘Yet you are one.’

  ‘Only until this place is sold,’ he said, humour fading. ‘I intend the title to disappear with it.’

  ‘So Gran’s ogre disappears?’

  ‘I’m an ogre?’

  ‘That’s why I’m not letting you buy coal or drive me home,’ she said. ‘It’s very nice of you, as is lending me this money, and I appreciate it very much, but if Gran opened the door and an Earl was standing on her doorstep, loaded with coal, she’d have a palsy stroke. Whatever that is.’

  ‘A palsy stroke?’ he said dubiously.

  ‘I hear that’s what they had in the olden days,’ she explained. ‘When Earls knew their place and servants knew theirs. Swooning and palsy strokes were everywhere and I don’t have my smelling salts with me. So no. I know my place. Gran and I will keep to the servants’ quarters and cook and dust while you’re all elsewhere and I’ll keep to my kitchen, and you’ll hand over menus of twenty courses to be cooked in two hours, and Gran will creep in at dawn and light your fires...’